Returning the Favor
by A Deed Without a Name
Summary: Dean has a tendency to carry everyone else. So Sam and Castiel have been urging him, lately, to take it easy and let them take care of him for once - and it's starting to show. PWP. WARNING: Contains Wincest, weight gain, stuffing, chubby!Dean, and encourager!Sam/Castiel


Dean woke up slowly from a nap he wouldn't hesitate to call awesome. No nightmares, no dreams he could even remember. He hadn't had trouble sleeping for a while now, actually, not even at night, when most of the problems tended to happen. Maybe it was because he was getting more rest than usual.

Seemed like his timing couldn't've been better. Running shoes squeaked on the floor outside as Dean hauled himself upright with a groan, and then Sam, sweaty and flushed, poked his head in through the open doorway.

"Hey," he greeted, breathing hard. "You have a good nap?"

"Yep." Dean flopped back against his pillows. "Two large meat-lover's pizzas and a six pack'll knock you right out."

He rubbed his stomach, still swollen enough to spill out of his jeans and shirt and weigh him down. It wasn't quite as big as it'd been a couple hours ago. He wouldn't've had a choice about going to sleep even if he hadn't felt a food coma coming on, because he'd been too damn full to move hardly at all.

"D'you have more room now, then?" Sam came into the room all the way, long legs under narrow hips and broad shoulders. "'Cause...Cas has a pie cooling in the kitchen." He jabbed a thumb in that general direction. "Saw it when I came in."

"'Course he does," Dean said with a snort. Sam dropped onto the bed, managing not to jostle him through the power of memory foam. "Who ever would've guessed he'd turn out to be so great at baking?"

"Gabriel sure had a thing for sweet stuff," Sam pointed out. Dean grunted.

"Cas around?"

"Uh, no. I sent him on a grocery run."

"Hope he does better this time," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He'd bought cream instead of milk for a while, and even though Dean had still used it (stuff was awesome on cereal), there was a pretty significant price difference and it wasn't like they were made of fraudulent credit cards.

"I gave him a really detailed list."

Sam was fresh off a run, hair hanging in damp rat tails, and the BO-and-outside-air scent of him wasn't bad. You didn't hunt without learning there were twenty, give or take, different kinds of sweat, and they all smelled different. When Sam was working out, his smelled as clean as sweat ever could.

"What kinda pie?" Dean asked after a couple seconds, since as much as he might want to, he couldn't just sit here smelling his brother forever.

"Apple." Sam was just barely not smiling, like he knew Dean wasn't gonna be able to resist.

"Definitely can't let that go to waste." Dean laced his fingers together behind his head. "Guess you might as well bring it to me."

Sam got up and did that. He brought Dean a fork, too, already speared into Castiel's overly-precise lattice crust.

"What, no milk?" Dean proclaimed, when Sam gave it to him. He spread his hands wide, pie in one, fork in the other.

Sam made a big show of shaking his head and plodding back out of the room, but when he came back, he had a big glass of milk with him. He'd also grabbed himself a water bottle while he was at it, one of his reusable metal hippie ones. He sprawled out on Dean's bed, all long, knobby limbs and big feet hanging off the end, nursing the water as his breathing got quieter and his face got less red. Dean had one eye on him, couldn't help it, but the rest of his attention was given over to gorging himself on Castiel's apple pie, washing every bite down with a sip of milk.

He got full all over again quick, sitting up with his eyes folded and his belly pretty much sitting on his lap. But pie, baked by Castiel or anybody else, was way too good not to clean the tin out. He felt his stomach, softened with digestion after he'd stuffed himself right up to the gills at lunch, firm up again, round out some. The pressure wasn't anything he'd call bad.

Dean leaned slowly over to set the empty tin, fork, and glass on his nightstand when he was finished, groaning and then burping. Sam, playing with his also-empty water bottle, watched him.

"Shit." Dean burped again. "I've really been packing it on, huh?" He slapped both hands onto the overfed shape of his gut, noting how much give there was and immediately wondering what else he could eat. "Gonna have to drop a lotta weight before I start hunting for real again."

There hadn't been any crises lately, and the hunts had all been easy. Dean...didn't really know how to deal with that. Or he wouldn'tve, if Sam and Castiel hadn't been pushing for him to make a real vacation out of it, let them spoil him rotten. There'd been a lot of "You deserve a break," "You do so much for us," blah blah blah. He tried to tune out as much of the chick-flick moments as he could, blushing hot, and focus on the music and headphones they were buying him. The shows and books they were pointing him towards. The good food they were keeping him stuffed solid with.

Most of his clothes didn't fit so great anymore, and it was getting easier and easier to spend the whole day on his growing ass, watching Netflix and pigging out. Dean seriously didn't mind. He cracked a joke anyway: "You and Cas've been feeding me too damn much."

"You don't have to worry about losing weight right now, Dean." Sam was frowning, familiar wrinkles between his eyebrows. "Just - just focus on enjoying yourself. That's what this is all about, after all." He cleared his throat as he pushed himself up. "And you really haven't even gained that much."

Dean smirked, because he knew damn well that wasn't the case. If he had to lowball a guess, he'd say he'd picked up about fifty pounds, probably more, and he wasn't dumb or vain enough anymore to try and tell himself any of it was muscle. Nice of Sam to downplay it anyway, though.

"I'm gonna go ahead and take a shower." Not looking at Dean, Sam set the water bottle next to the pie tin. "You need anything else before I go?"

"Nah," Dean replied with a belch. Might waddle on down to the kitchen and see if he couldn't rustle up a bag of potato chips, even though Castiel was grocery shopping and that probably meant they were mostly out of food; they ran out quick these days, Dean thought to himself, amused, as he patted his stomach.

He changed his mind when Sam rolled over to get off the bed and the movement pulled his sweats tight across the tent he was pitching in them. Dean let him stand up, admiring the tight form of his ass and the smooth lines of his back, before he coughed to get his attention.

"Come to think of it, there actually is something you can do for me." Grinning, Dean leaned forward. "And you're definitely gonna wanna do it before you shower."

They both stripped fast and then Dean worked Sam quickly open, with enough lube to drool down his balls and the inside of his thighs. They were both ready, used to this, so Sam, on all fours, let him in after only a couple minutes. They'd learned the hard way face-to-face sex, missionary, wasn't exactly an option when Dean was so full. Doggy style was a necessity. Which was just fine, didn't bother Dean at all except he couldn't see Sam's face. Made it easier to pull that long-ass hair of his, though.

Dean had to hoist his belly up to bury his cock in Sam's ass. Just an inch or two, wasn't like it covered his dick or anything. He slid home with a grunt of pleasure at the wet, hot tightness wrapping around him, letting the weight of his stomach settle on top of Sam's back. He knew he could take it. And sure enough, Sam sucked in a sharp breath, but didn't so much as twitch.

"Good?" Dean rumbled, voice coming from deep in his chest like it always did when he got horny enough.

"Fuck me," Sam rasped back eagerly.

Dean cocked his hips back, strong muscles he still had in his legs and back getting ready to build up a rhythm for him. A problem popped up after only a couple thrusts, though. Him and Sam had never screwed when he was quite this stuffed, a whole pie on top of a huge lunch, and the back and forth...hurt. The contents of his gut sloshed in a way that just wasn't good at all. Dean had to stop, breathing hard already, and swallow. He put a hand on his middle and felt it churning. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was ralph all over Sam's back.

"Whatsamatter?" Sam asked, impatient but also sounding kinda worried.

"I, uh - " Dean cut himself off with a soft burp. "Yeah, this ain't gonna work."

"Hurting your stomach?"

"Yeah." Dean was relieved Sam'd picked it up so quick. "I'm real sorry, man. I just...I guess I ate too much. If I fuck you, I'm seriously gonna puke, and I'm pretty sure neither of us wants that."

"No, no, it's okay. You didn't eat too much." Sam glanced over his shoulder. "Go - go ahead and pull out, okay? And lay down. I've got an idea."

Sam's ideas, about sex or otherwise, tended to be good, so Dean went with it. He heaved his bulk off him and his girth out of him. If his dick'd had a mouth, it would've whimpered, but he didn't expect it to be outside a hole for long. He laid down and spread out on the mattress, groaning quietly as the rich food filing him up settled.

Sam straddled him, hair swinging, and Dean squinted up at him. If he was too damn full to even thrust, this was a hundred percent off the table. But Sam, still loose and slick, took him again anyway, long lashes fluttering and eyes rolling up as he sank all the way down Dean's length.

"That seriously comfy for you?" Dean could feel Sam's cock, sandwiched between his flat stomach and Dean's much softer underbelly.

"Little more than 'comfy,' Dean." Sam grinned in that wide, raunchy way he only seemed to manage when there was a dick inside him.

"Aren't you crushing your balls?"

"No, actually." Sam's internal muscles flexed around Dean in a way that made him jerk. "Works better than I thought it would."

He moved, an experimental little lift and drop. Not like he'd never ridden Dean before, but Dean assumed he was making sure there was enough room for him to bounce around as much as he liked to. Seemed like there was. Dean tipped his head back and groaned in appreciation, closing his eyes.

"Oh, yeah," he agreed huskily. "Way better."

Sam got to moving fast and strong on top of Dean, building up to his full power in less than a minute. His cock pumped against Dean's bloated stomach, practically driving into it, making him jiggle. That actually felt good, though, despite the hiccups it set off. Not like Dean trying to fuck Sam.

With the speed he was going, prostate rubbing hot and unmistakable against Dean's head every half-second, Sam had to grab onto him for balance. He went for the no-brainer first: his love handles, enough sensitive flesh to fill up both Sam's giant palms (Dean felt the scar on one) and pillow out between his fingers. Then he was up on Dean's gut proper, squeezing it, kneading it, forcing him to burp, and Dean wasn't even gonna take a crack at understanding why, but it felt _incredible_.

Dean opened his eyes and brought his head back up so he could look at Sam. He could only see part of him over the swell of his own belly, but that was more than enough. He was just so toned and fit, and totally gorgeous, all tan skin and dusky little moles on top of muscles that looked exactly how they were supposed to. Under the lean tautness of his brother, Dean felt round and soft and very, very big.

Sweat was dripping off Sam like rain, falling on the pale, freckled stretch of Dean's stomach and chest. Sam keened, a low rumble between his throat and chest, and his face'd gone loose and relaxed with pleasure, eyes gold-gray in the light of Dean's bedroom and all but glowing. With all that in his field of vision, it didn't take Dean long to shoot his load inside his baby brother's firm ass.

That was all Sam needed to pop his cork. Warm stickiness, a good amount for how often they'd been doing this recently, splattered across Dean's belly. Like icing on a bun.

After, Sam flopped down next to him with a breathy chuckle and laid there, come probably leaking out of his ass. Not that that was in any way a bad image. His head was on Dean's bicep, wet hair tangled under his skull, lashes kissing freckles with every blink. He was playing with one of Dean's brand-new breasts, the dark nipple. Dean wasn't exactly a fan of being reminded about how fat he'd gotten (was getting), but he could admit it felt nice.

"That take a lot out of you?" Sam asked, soft.

Dean laughed, because he'd hardly done anything at all. Now that he thought about it, though, he guessed he was kinda sucking wind.

"Yeah, sure."

"If you need to get your strength back up," Sam began, fingertip calluses catching on Dean's downy chest hair, "there might be another of Castiel's pies down in the kitchen."

"You serious?" Dean barely lifted his head off the pillows, just enough to see Sam's grin.

"This one's cherry."

"Well, hell." Dean rolled over to face Sam, groaning at the effort it took to shift his considerable weight. "Guess it can't hurt." The heft of his stomach came to a rest against the sharp, flat curve that was Sam's hip and side. "I'm pretty beat though, so..." He yawned exaggeratedly. "You're gonna have to feed it to me."

From this angle, Dean barely caught it when Sam's dick twitched. Despite him having come less than five minutes before. The evidence of that was drying tight and itchy in Dean's happy trail and around his belly button. Dean snorted.

"Damn," he commented, nuzzling into Sam's hair. "And here I thought I was kinky."


End file.
